The Detention: A cliche fic
by AliceFae
Summary: A portrayal of the more typical ss/hg fics I've read over the years. Mocks the conventions right down to the diction. Enjoy. M for language and sexual theme.


The Detention: A cliché fic, with a twist. (?)

Hermione was a naughty, naughty girl who spent most of her time thinking about sex. Her favorite class in which to fantasize about sexual activity was Potions where the evil bat of the dungeons dwelled. He was ruthless and cruel and served out detentions like pumpkin pasties on the Hogwarts Express. Despite his infamous cruelty and unsightly yellow teeth, sallow skin, and greasy unwashed hair, Hermione found him almost irresistible. She usually sat in the back of the classroom thinking about his callous, long, and incredibly skilled fingers running all over her impeccable body, and weaving through her luscious hair which she magically enchanted into long flowing curls every morning. Hermione never suspected that her Potions professor was intimately aware of her most secret desires, being as he was an incredibly skilled Legilimens, a quadruple spy and the most fucking awesome potions master in the world.

One day as she sat next to Neville whispering instruction at him, professor Snape barked at her. "Miss. Granger what the fuck do you think you're doing? Haven't I been telling you for the last 6 and half years to not give instruction to Mr. Longbottom?" Hermione merely bit her lip while Neville cried and popped a few anti-depressants. "Detention, Miss. Granger. Detention!"

Later that evening, Hermione excused herself from her only friends Harry and Ron, who were as usual talking about Quidditch. She made her way down the dark stairs. Her long robes covered the delectably skimpy outfit she'd chosen to wear that night in order to entice her professor. She knocked on the large wooden door of the potions classroom, and waited for the barking voice at the other end. When she heard the loud and nasal "enter" she went into the classroom. Professor Snape sat behind his desk, angrily marking papers, shredding some of them to bits, throwing a few others in the fire, and just generally stabbing the hell out of most with his red grading quill. Hermione walked seductively up to his desk making sure to close the door behind her, throwing a few voiceless silencing and locking charms in its direction just in case she got lucky. Professor Snape raised an eyebrow at her.

"What are you waiting for, Miss. Granger? Get to work!" he said pointing to a pile of dirty cauldrons in a corner of the room.

A plan suddenly formed in Hermione's ingenious head. She removed her large black house robes and tossed them unceremoniously onto a chair, revealing her inconceivably short grey skirt, tight white oxford shirt with many unbuttoned buttons and her Gryffindor tie which nested between her perfect breasts. To Hermione's disappointment, professor Snape did not look up to witness her wardrobe change. She let herself fall on her hands and knees and began to scrub at the cauldrons, pointing her pert ass at her professor.

"Miss. Granger, could you hurry it up. I-" Snape stopped short of his sentence as his eyes landed on Hermione's bottom. "I-I-I…Granger, what the fuck are you doing?"

"Yes, professor?" said Hermione with a Slytherin smirk. Hermione summoned her Gryffindor courage and walked up to professor Snape, taking advantage of his flabbergasted state. She sat on his desk and slowly unbuttoned her shirt revealing the green bra she'd picked out for its blatantly symbolic color. She eagerly imagined his hands all over her body, as she lay upon the green silk sheets of his bedroom which was fully decorated in green with intricate designs of snakes all over the walls, carpet, mantle and chandeliers. He would remove her –

"Enough!" shouted Snape, pulling Hermione from her thoughts. "Enough, please…"

He stood up and walked around his desk. "I can't take it anymore. Every fucking day is the same thing. I have to listen to your constant misguided illusions, Granger. Your best friend is the son of my first and only love, how can you possibly sustain the idea that I have any sexual prowess? I spend most of my days in the dungeons absorbing potion fumes, so yes my hair really is greasy, not silky! Besides, it's been like that for years, it's probably genetic. And I'm a fucking teacher on a teacher salary; my room is only twice as large as your average broom closet, and with absolutely no intricate carvings of snakes. And you know what else? I fucking hate snakes, I have this terrible feeling one of them is going to kill me one day. Besides that, my favorite color is blue, dammit! Midnight blue! Not green! I'm tired of this stereotyped Slytherin shit. We don't bleed green, and we are capable of a few more facial expressions than smirking. And Gryffindor has no copyright over courage, Granger, anyone can be courageous! Oh for God's sake, stop biting your lips, it's not sexy! Your blatant sexuality is not in any way convincing of your agency within this fic. in fact, it demeans you. And also, no woman in the world has perfect breasts… except maybe the writer of this fiction. But only her and no one else. You have terribly misguided conceptions of sex, it's not always pretty ,sometimes it sounds funny. For fuck's sake Granger, get real!"


End file.
